January
by fanfic n00b
Summary: Harry celebrates his mother's birthday in an unconventional way. Super-WAFFy. Canon-compliant.


The sight was welcome- the particular silhouette of the castle, a darker gray against the wintry morning sky and the white blanket of snow, a study in monochrome. His first home.

Harry shifted his daughter's weight higher against his body as he walked. She was still half-asleep, her arms draped around his neck, the hood of her blue winter cloak bouncing against his chin. He had cajoled some toast into her before setting off, but he knew Neville would want to say hello, and Hannah would foist excellent sausages on him, so Harry had not had breakfast himself. It was all familiar: hunger. A slightly mad inspiration. Walking across the Hogwarts grounds in the early morning light.

The idea had come to Harry the previous afternoon, when he was watching his two youngest children make snow angels in the square at Godric's Hollow. Ginny and James had been at Luna's, the latter having just returned from Tibet. James had _begged_. Harry wondered what troublesome souvenirs James might come home with; Luna was a rather indulgent godmother. Best not to dwell on disasters that had not yet come to pass, he thought.

Harry saw no one as he carried Lily toward the castle. He supposed most of the students would be asleep at this hour. A few owls soared overhead, returning from their twilight hunts.

As it turned out, there were a few students in the Great Hall. Harry thought they must all be Ravenclaws, because they were reading studiously as they ate. Although perhaps not, he chuckled to himself, remembering Hermione reading the paper aloud on many mornings in his fifth year. A few teachers recognized him and waved hello. Harry waved back.

Lily began to stir when Harry reached the first staircase.

"They move," she mumbled.

"Yes, my love. They move," he said.

And now the flood of memories came in earnest: walking down these stairs for what he had thought would be the last time on the way to meet Tom Riddle in the forest. Running up them to Dumbledore's office. Hurrying down them to watch Umbridge chased from the castle by Peeves wielding a sock and a stick. He had spent half his youth on these stairs.

Lily, at eight years old, had never been to Hogwarts before. But it was her birthright, and someday, Harry knew, she would have her share of these stairs and corridors. Well, perhaps less of certain parts of it (the Chamber of Secrets came to mind) than he'd had in his school days, which admittedly, had involved rather a lot of fighting for his life. So he walked slowly and let her take in the moving portraits and ancient tapestries. Let her dream of this.

At last he reached the slightly mangled stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. Neville had given Harry the password the previous evening via D.A. coin. Harry said "raspberry jam," and together he and Lily ascended the slowly moving staircase. As they waited, he thought of her namesake. Today was her birthday. She would've been, what, fifty-five? His daughter yawned into his face and he shifted her weight against him again.

"You're getting far too tall," he said.

"Dad," she said. "Where are we going?"

"To the headmaster's office. Woe betide you if you come here on your own account, little troublemaker."

She squirmed a little. "Why are we going to the headmaster's office?"

"Because it's your grandmother's birthday. I thought we'd do something nice for her."

The office had changed somewhat since Harry's last visit. The shelves and curtains bore the hallmarks of a new headmaster. But all the portraits were there, snoozing in their painted chairs. The one he had been thinking of still hung where it had been placed at Harry's request sixteen years before.

Harry hugged his daughter closer to him. She smelled of buttered toast and fresh linens. He spoke a little louder than he needed to.

"Lily, say hello to an old friend of ours."

The man in the portrait stirred. He looked less sour than he had been in life. Or maybe it was just that Harry's opinion of him had changed. The other portraits woke from their feigned slumber and watched them curiously. Harry waved to Dumbledore; there would be time for that, too.

"Hi," Lily chirped. Harry had expected her to sound shy and sleepy, but she didn't. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A lock of her red hair had fallen into her face, and Harry swept it behind her ear. She stared steadily up at the portrait. Harry knew this expression well; Ginny called it the figuring-it-out face.

Harry knew it wasn't the real Professor Snape- the real one had gone on long ago- but his portrait, like Dumbledore's, remained uncannily lifelike.

Harry cleared his throat. "I haven't got any pictures of my mother at her age. But I think there's a resemblance. What do you reckon?"

The girl and the professor regarded one another for a long moment. Then they both looked at Harry.

In another portrait across the room, Dilys Derwent sniffed loudly.


End file.
